Say You Will(26)
Guilt speared Rosalind. She picked up the framed photo. “I’m sorry. I was just—”
“Don’t be sorry. May I?” She held her hand out.
Rosalind handed it over, watching carefully.
Her mother’s expression softened with sadness. “I haven’t looked at this in a long time. I looked hopeful.”
“Yes.”
“A young woman on the verge of happily ever after.” The words held a tinge of bitterness. “I thought the sun rose and set on Reginald Summerhill. Little did I know one day he’d have a fatal accident with his mistress.”
She gaped wide-eyed at her mother, not sure what to say.
“Honour and Family, indeed.” Her mother set the picture aside and focused on her. “Your father was a selfish git.”
“Okay,” she drawled, not sure how to reply.
“As selfish as he was, he cared for all of us in his own way. I believe that with what’s left of my heart.” Her lips twisted in a mockery of a smile. “He had a unique way of being disappointed in us all and yet caring at the same time, didn’t he?”
“You felt that way, too?”
“We all felt that way.” She sighed, the anger visibly draining from her. “I owe you girls an apology.”
Confused, Rosalind shook her head. “What for?”
“For not giving you what you needed.” Her mum glanced at the ball gowns, her eyes sad. “I was such a hopeless romantic, and it didn’t serve me well in my early life. You know I named all you girls after heroines in Shakespearean comedies because I wanted you to have the same happy endings they had?”
“Of course.” Rosalind smiled. “Although I used to wish I had a plain name like Anne.”
Her mother smiled, too. “I almost named Imogen ‘Mary,’ because I felt so disillusioned when I was pregnant with her.”
“But somehow you still believed.”
“A fool, aren’t I? I believed so much that I still tried to please Reginald, even though I knew nothing would have, and in doing what he expected I lost something more precious than I realized. Like I said, I was a fool.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” She shook her head. “What did you lose?”
“You girls.” Her mother tapped the sketchpad. “Are you working on a new design?”
She wanted to ask what her mother meant by “you girls,” but she was thrown off by the interest in her work. “Yes. For a woman I met here, actually.”
“May I see?” Before she could reply, her mother took the sketchpad and began flipping through it.
Normally, Rosalind didn’t care about other people’s opinions—she knew she was a fantastic designer. But nerves niggled at her belly as her mother looked over the book with her critical eye.
“Beautiful,” her mother declared. Then she tapped one page. “Particularly this one.”
She looked at the sketch. It was the dress she’d designed for herself, for one day. “You think so?”
“It looks like you, a combination of vintage and modern. Straightforward but layered.” Her mother turned the page. “This is beautiful, as well.”
“That was the dress I designed for Bijou’s sister. You remember my friend Bijou Taylor.”
“Of course. Her family is hard to forget.” Her mother handed back the sketches. “You’re very talented, Rosalind.”
Pleasure flushed her cheeks. “I learned fashion from you.”
The sad look crept into her mother’s eyes again, but she just smiled, patted her hand, and worked herself to her feet. “I believe I’ll have tea now. Stay in here as long as you need.”
She watched her mother walk away, her posture so very correct.
But at the closet door, she turned around and looked Rosalind in the eye. “I’m very proud of all of you. Perhaps I haven’t been as warm a mother as some, but I’ve always been ever so proud of my daughters.”
She stepped out and quietly closed the door behind her.
Rosalind sat on the floor, gaping, a lump of emotion in her throat. Then she lowered her head and began to draw hope in the lines of Sara’s dress.
Chapter Twelve
The door to Summer’s flat opened right as Nick was about to ring the buzzer.
A smile lit her face. “This is a nice surprise,” she said as she kissed his cheeks, “but I’m on my way out.”
He shook his head. “I need to talk to you.”
“Can’t it wait? I have an appointment to get a mani-pedi.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
“Suit yourself.” She hiked the luggage she called a purse higher onto her shoulder and wrapped a scarf around her neck.